


The Lonely, Witnessed

by ScienceNerds



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24152875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceNerds/pseuds/ScienceNerds
Summary: Martin and Jon are resting during the end of the world. It's a good day, one where there really are two people lying on the couch. Jon wants to know about what Martin experienced during his coma, and wants to See what he had missed. Martin doesn't know how to tell people about his pain.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims
Kudos: 34





	The Lonely, Witnessed

**Author's Note:**

> I did not really proofread this because I finished this before work. Might come back to it to clean it up, but it is considered "finished"

It was a good day for Jon, or at least whatever he was calling “day”. He felt more… grounded. He had been able to do more than stare vacantly at the wall absorbing the horrors that lay just outside their front door. More than listen to the tapes again and again and again. It was a day they could hold each other on the couch and take in the only comfort They could not take away. At least not in here.

The constant barrage of witnessing the end of the world offered Jon a surprising reprieve when it came to Martin’s mind. The cacophony of human suffering didn’t quite fade into the background, but apparently he was still human enough to adapt to just about anything. And as he forced the swarm of visions at bay, focusing on the shape of Martin’s arms, it took barely an extra thought to keep private thoughts firmly in the corner in his Eye.

Martin just smiled when Jon climbed onto the couch, nestling into his side. They didn’t talk much these days, but every once in a while Martin would notice Jon’s eyes unfocus and mention some nothing story he was definitely making up on the spot. It was nice, though. Just hearing his voice, ever-bright in these dark times, brought Jon back to the warm cabin.

Truth be told, Jon had been waiting for Martin to finally doze off. It gave him a chance to soak in the closeness, fingers following the curves of the man he loved unclouded by Martin’s self-consciousness. He could see everything, but he relished the discovery of this love. 

As he drifted up Martin’s shoulder, back around his scapula and to the nape of his neck, Jon paused. Small, hollow circles of light skin tracked down Martin’s back. They looked like octopus rings lining up his spine. He ignored the knowledge that floated through his eyes. “Martin, where did these come from?” They were definitely scars.

“Hmm?” Martin opened his eyes blearily. Jon rested his hand on one of the scars. “Oh,” he said shortly, and shuddered. “The Flesh. Back at the archives.”

“Ah, I had…” Jon had forgotten about the attack on the institute. “I didn’t know you had been hurt.”

Martin shifted under Jon’s touch, turning so he was leaning against the arm of the couch. He pulled the Archivist into a tight hug and Jon had to pull his arms in to lie properly against him. “Oh don’t worry about it. There was a lot to deal with back then, I hardly even remembered it.”

“Well I find that hard to believe,” Jon scoffed. He propped himself up on Martin’s chest. “Really, Martin, I know I haven’t been-” Pleasant? Bearable? Stable? “present, lately, but you know you can talk to me. I do want to know about when I was… gone.”

There was a frustratingly lighthearted glint in Martin’s grin. “What,  _ you _ want to  _ know _ something? Color me shocked.”

“Martin,” Jon tried to keep the scolding out of his voice but clearly failed. The man’s bravado was doing little to dissuade his curiosity. “I have been spending every waking moment, which again, is all of them, trying to keep out of your mind. I see flashes, ideas when you’re dreaming, and it’s awful, and not actually knowing what they are makes me feel… useless.”

Neither of them had moved, but Martin’s touch had gone cold. His expression was so like The Lonely that Jon instinctively gripped tighter as if he might just fade away. “Look, I…” He looked down, his voice soft and pleading. “I just don’t want to talk about it, ok?”

“What, the attack? That’s fine, but please, Martin, talk to me about something, anything! We’re trapped in here, and nothing is going to just go away,” he was saying too much, “and how am I supposed to protect you if I don’t even know what to protect you from?”

“Jon, please, just - just drop it!” Martin stood, the sudden separation jarring them both. “Look you’re already dealing with the end of the world, and I’ve proven I can take care of myself. What’s the point of dredging up things that don’t - don’t matter anymore!”

“Don’t matter? Martin, I - “ Jon screwed his eyes shut, willing himself not to see into Martin, not to just tear the information out of him so he’d stop being so difficult. “How is keeping secrets and closing yourself off-”

“No, Jon.” When he opened his eyes, Martin was standing over him, that cold anger radiating. “You don’t get to criticize how I deal with things when I can barely get you to say two words to me! I can’t afford to start talking, because where would I stop? Where would I even start?” His eyes pinched as they glistened with tears. “Everything is horrible for everyone now, and like you keep saying, that’s it. Who cares how miserable I was, how scared I was, because nothing matters if we can’t stop the end of the world. So tell me, what am I supposed to say to you?”

Thoroughly shamed, Jon had to close his eyes again to quiet the world. The unknowing gnawed at him, but the guilt was returning in heavy waves, this time growing from the essential knowledge of how badly he had failed Martin. He needed to know just what harm he had caused. “Please, Martin, I… I just don’t want to feel so far away from you. I understand you don’t want to talk about it, and if the answer is no, it’s it’s fine, but…” He couldn’t hold the question back any longer. “Can I… Will you let me See it?”

Jon heard Martin take a long, heavy sigh. He’d done it, he’d pushed too far. But, eventually Martin just answered in that resigned tone. “Alright, Jon. Maybe I do need to show you.”

The couch shifted and Jon opened his eyes to look at his partner. His face was so neutral and blank that Jon almost pulled away, apologized for being so impossibly ravenous, buried that ever-growing need to see inside Martin, to know him. 

But Martin took his hand. He smiled that beautiful, sad smile, and nodded. So Jon opened his Eye. 

It was heartbreaking. It was bliss. Jon saw it all at once and backwards, tracing further through the endless days and nights of waiting. 

Martin pinned Melanie to the ground, barely able to force her small frame still long enough for Basira to finish knotting her restraints. She was screaming, snarling words that he could not understand in between biting snaps. Everyone was screaming. His hands slipped on his blood? Her blood? Everything’s blood? Melanie lunged at his eyes and he slammed his weight back down. Her shoulder jutted upwards with a crunching pop.

Martin sat in his office. He was alone. 

The vase Martin had chosen for his mother’s ashes lay empty on the counter. She had asked that her ashes be kept at the care home. Martin stared into the bathroom mirror, syringe waiting expectantly on the sink. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from every feature that made up his face, his frame. For the first time in his life, he tried to see the child he used to be. He even cried differently now. Martin picked up the needle and thrust it into a random spot on his thigh, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Martin sat in his office. He was still alone.

Martin’s head rested on Jon’s hand. He was waiting, biding time until the next minute twitch told him yes, Jon was still alive. It was so quiet. There was no heart moniter, no steady breath to match, even the commotion from the hospital seemed locked behind the door. He told Jon that he was going to have to leave him. That everything was falling apart and there was only one way to keep everyone left safe. That he wished he could ask for advice. That he would always love him. 

Martin sat in his office. He was still alone. 

There were worms everywhere. Martin woke shouting, hand instinctively clasping on the extinguisher, filling his vision with steam that chilled his entire body. He lept from the bed and sprayed everywhere - the cot, the floor, the wall. Finally, panting, he looked over his body. No bites. Pulling back the blanket, Martin finally found the wilted remains of a single worm, curled near his pillow. 

Martin sat in his office. He was still alone.

Still more Jon saw, weaving in and out through Martin’s life. He struggled to stay recent, turning away from any moment that did not hold the knowledge of the Archive. All through fragmented and swirling and reverberating knowledge were swells of emotion. Hopeless love, crushing doubt, unwavering determination, consummate loathing, and lined through with devouring loneliness. 

Jon was losing himself and he closed the door. He bit down on his tongue against the compulsion to witness what he saw. It Knows You would not get another meal out of Martin. Instead, he just stared at his lover’s beautiful, scarred face. 

“See?” Martin’s voice tore Jon from his stupor. “I knew that would happen. Pity.” 

Jon laughed before he could stop himself - the idea was just so ludicrous. He grabbed Martin’s arm, cupping his face so he couldn’t avoid looking back. “Martin, no. I…” He had to get this right, he could feel the shame and self-loathing rebuilding that wall. “I am in awe of you.

“I didn’t realize… no, I never bothered to think about everything you’ve done for the people in your life. I didn’t consider… a lot of things. But if there is one thing I could never do, Martin Blackwood, is pity you.”

That got a smile, if a small one. Martin had started crying, but Jon wouldn’t let him pull away. He was finally saying the right things, he didn’t even have to ignore the cacophony outside - it didn’t matter. “I am so grateful to have you by my side, and I promise someday I will find out how to make it up to you.” Jon sat up so he could meet Martin’s level. “I love you so much.”

Martin wrapped his arms around Jon, squeezing so tightly that he had to wonder if he still needed to breathe. Without a word, they leaned back into the couch. Martin’s heartbeat, still hammering, thumped with soothing regularity. 

Jon closed his eyes, a rare peace hovering in the room. “Thank you, Martin, for showing me.”

Martin squeezed, nuzzling into Jon’s mess of a hair. “Thank you for caring.”

Martin slept, and Jon rested. 

It had been a good day. 


End file.
